Thursday
by TheRecorder
Summary: Castiel, young and half-trained, nearly falls.


It was Balthazar's fault. However, Castiel couldn't bring himself to resent him. They were in the same training unit and when Castiel eventually gets placed in a garrison, the actions of one would affect the whole just as much. It was a lesson for all of them, not just Balthazar and Castiel hoped this would help him become a better soldier.

Therefore, Castiel bore the armful of training swords willingly, if not a bit clumsily. Normally, the instructor would vanish them to their proper place but now Castiel had to carry them to the storehouse. It really could have been worse; Balthazar had to carry each and every set of padded armor back to the place they were stored, Castiel only had to carry this one load.

Castiel liked to think it was the weight that made him stumble as many times as he had. Unfortunately, he was well aware he didn't have the same amount of deftness or grace as the other angels. He didn't even have the same amount of the other kind of grace. He was weaker, a klutz, ambitionless. He would never amount to anything, he-

Castiel's foot caught the heel of the other and he pitched forward. The swords clattered across the ground, scattering around him. He didn't get up immediately. He remembered the words of the other angels, the ones of the moon, of the sun, of the stars, of light, and of beauty. 'Thursday?' they always asked, 'nothing good about Thursday. It fits.' He tried, he did. But Uriel and Balthazar always were the ones who came to his rescue, always stood beside him to make them back down. He was nothing on his own. 'It's okay, Castiel', Zachariah had told him, 'you were made to take orders, we need good soldiers'.

At the time, he had taken that to be a vote of confidence, but now he wasn't so sure. Castiel pushed himself up onto his hands and began to pick up the training swords. He could do this; he could take these swords to the storehouse. He wasn't useless. He wasn't.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that good soldiers don't let their guard down?" drawled a voice above him.

He looked up and then shot to his feet, scrambling into the respectful stance; arms behind his back, eyes straight, legs apart.

"S-Sir!"

Yellow eyes flashed in amusement.

"Cadet," the angel acknowledged.

Azazel looked over the nervous trainee, arms crossed comfortably and wings canted in nonchalance. The grace that made up Castiel's pair of wings, however, was buzzing in anxious agitation.

"What," he asked slowly, "are you doing with those?"

Castiel darted his eyes to the swords and then back forward, "Training swords, sir. I, I was assigned to take them to the storehouse in retribution for the misbehavior of my fellow unit cadet."

Azazel nodded, "I see."

He lifted a hand and snapped, the swords disappearing immediately.

"There. Do you have time to speak with me, Castiel?"

Castiel jerked up to look at Azazel in surprise, "What? I mean, y-yes, sir, I have no other duties…"

He quickly straightening, resuming proper posture, but he knew his wings were buzzing even worse than before, he could hear them sparking behind his head. He flushed at how much they were giving away. Another thing he failed where everyone else succeeded; controlling his emotions.

Azazel chuckled and Castiel reddened further.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble," he reached out and laid a hand on Castiel's wing, making the young angel jolt and blush even more, "I just want to chat, Castiel."

"H-How," Castiel was losing all traces and hopes of regaining calm once his superior touched his grace, "do you know my name, sir?"

Azazel chuckled again and ran his hand down Castiel's wing. Castiel shivered and started to tremble in a combination of anxiety, confusion, embarrassment, and fear.

"I know all the names of the cadets with as much potential as you, Castiel."

Every time Azazel said his name, Castiel grew more unnerved, but the rest of his statement threw the trainee.

"Potential? Me? No disrespect, sir, but I think someone has lied to you."

Azazel chuckled again and moved behind Castiel.

"Sir?"

Azazel abruptly gripped Castiel's wings and Castiel gasped, clutching his sides.

"You have it backward, little angel," Azazel purred in his ear as Castiel tried to fight back the intensifying wave of his emotions, their strength growing from contact to his wings, "You're nothing but potential wrapped in burnt black wings and bright blue grace."

"Sir, please, let me go!"

Azazel released the angel and Castiel dropped to his knees, panting.

"Not long now, Castiel," he moved to stand in front of Castiel and the trainee looked up at him, chest heaving, wings all but charged air around his in his panic and agitation, "and you could become greater than you could ever be here, under them. Think on it. I and my colleagues know your true abilities and they won't make use of them in Heaven, not as it is."

"What are you saying?" But Castiel knew the answer. Blasphemy. Willfully falling.

Azazel smiled, "I'll see you again, Castiel."

With that, Azazel disappeared, leaving Castiel gasping on the ground.

The young angel didn't like the idea of Azazel trying to recruit him. You don't recruit soldiers unless you were planning to start a war.

Castiel shivered and let himself kneel on the ground for a little while longer.

* * *

He really didn't expect to see Azazel later despite what the other angel had said. As for the other things Azazel had said…Castiel had been stressed, he had probably misinterpreted or even misheard the thing his superior had said. In fact, Castiel was certain it had been a hallucination or a daydream or something similar. No way would an angel of Azazel's status complement him like that. No angel would complement him like that. Not even Balthazar could readily single out something Castiel was particularly good at and he was his best friend.

No, Castiel was not on someone like Azazel's radar, therefore he was surprised when he was taken away from his studies to be presented to Azazel in private.

No other angel was in the room with them and already Castiel could feel his grace start to buzz.

Azazel smiled, "Still no better at controlling your emotions, I see."

Castiel looked down, "No, sir. I find it especially difficult." And coming from him that was saying something.

Azazel drew closer and Castiel stiffened. If he hadn't hallucinated the previous encounter, exactly how much of what he remembered had been accurate?

Was Azazel really building an army?

Azazel brushed his fingers along Castiel's cheek, "You really are a special angel."

"I don't understand," Castiel said, "I have no redeeming qualities, sir. I don't understand why I would be of interest to you."

Azazel trailed his hand from Castiel's cheek to his wings and dipped his hands into Castiel's grace. Castiel flinched, tensing up with a wince. He was scared and now he was fearful. Nothing was making sense except possibly that Azazel was preying on Castiel's low self-confidence to sway him into rebellion.

But Castiel wasn't worthless; he knew this as sure as he knew a high-ranking angel like Azazel would have no cause to rebel.

"Castiel. You must have noticed."

Azazel ran his hand through Castiel's grace with lazy motions. Castiel coughed. This wasn't what happened last time and it certainly wasn't what normally happened. It hurt. He felt it in his chest and his heart and it felt like his life was being squeezed inside him.

"What-!"

Azazel suddenly placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder blade and pulled him close.

"You are quite beautiful. Incredibly, in fact. Lucifer himself has noted it."

Castiel's head spun. Azazel had to be lying. But he wouldn't lie. But Lucifer? Noting Castiel? On his beauty, no less?

"Impossible," he gasped because things were getting foggy and he leaned against Azazel, feeling faint.

Azazel chuckled and Castiel felt it, pressed to his chest that he was. "Very true, little angel. You have a fierceness that only augments, I think with a goal, a cause you are truly passionate about, you would look nothing less than glorious."

"Me? Glorious…?" It felt like a glazed glass was filtering in everything that Castiel sensed, all dull and hazy.

"Yes," Azazel pushed Castiel's hair from his face, "glorious. You could lead a charge, you could, Castiel."

"No, I can't…turn from Heaven."

Azazel pressed his lips to Castiel's forehead, "You are rebel, Castiel, you are destined to burn with us, to turn from Heaven and singe your wings."

"What…" but Castiel was already fading into unconsciousness.

"You are to fall with us, Castiel. Join our losing cause."

Castiel didn't hear him.

* * *

"It's an honor, really. I've heard a lot about you."

Castiel looked at the offered hand.

And with burnt black wings and bright blue grace, Castiel shook hand of Azazel's child.

Here he was, so many years later.

Azazel almost had him.

Now, Castiel glanced at Dean, the brother of the boy with the demon blood.

Maybe he still did.

"And I you."


End file.
